


Rumor Has It

by mugsandpugs



Category: X-Men Evolution
Genre: Biting, Closet Sex, Dom/sub Undertones, Hand Jobs, Hate Sex, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Overstimulation, Praise Kink, but so is Lance so, scott is an asshole
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-10
Updated: 2018-03-10
Packaged: 2019-03-29 10:26:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13925211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mugsandpugs/pseuds/mugsandpugs
Summary: Scott Summers loathes Lance Alvers with every fiber of his being.





	Rumor Has It

Scott, Kitty, Kurt, and Evan had just been served pie at a diner when the teleporter cocked his head towards the tinted window. “Uh-oh; here comes trouble.” **  
**

Scott, mouth full of blueberry, turned to look where Kurt had indicated, then felt his shoulders tense. Of course. They couldn’t even have _one_ nice day…

Lance Alvers swaggered-- he never seemed to just _walk_ anywhere-- through the street, ignoring the crosswalk entirely. He probably thought it was more fun to jaywalk. Scott felt his lip curl in disgust.

All shoulders and elbows, Lance passed their diner with barely a hint of notice, instead taking up the entirety of the sidewalk. His bulk forced an elderly couple into some bushes that framed the path. He didn't seem to notice, or care.

“He's in a _mood,”_ Evan remarked, dipping a finger in the whipped cream that topped his banana pie.

“When _isn’t_ he?” Kurt retorted.

“Hi, Lance!” Kitty leaned through the tinted window, her body still sat in the shiny red diner seat, and waved excitedly out at him. The elderly couple, alarmed at the sight of a teenager defying the laws of physics, walked away quickly.

“Kitty,” Kurt groaned in protest, but it was too late. Lance turned to look over his shoulder and smiled at her. A real big smile, the kind that made his eyes grow all soft. If Scott didn’t know better, he’d think the expression was genuine.

Alvers turned on his heel, approaching the diner in time to catch Kitty's waist as she phased all the way through.

“They’ve gotten friendly, lately,” Evan observed, watching as she hugged the Brotherhood boy with innocent enthusiasm. It made Scott’s blood boil. Kitty was like a little sister to him; pure as the driven snow. The last thing she needed was to be influenced by such a delinquent.

Lance and Kitty took a step apart, talking cheerfully. Their voices were too muffled to be heard through the glass, but Lance’s hand on Kitty’s back slid down, lower-- daringly low. Scott set his drink down with a tinkle of ice cubes, nudging at Evan’s leg to get out of their booth. “Excuse me.”

“Scott–” Kurt warned, but the older mutant was already leaving their table. The bells above the door jingled cheerily as he slammed it shut.

Lance saw him first. His soft-eyed expression darkened as he made eye-contact with the shorter boy. “What do you want, Summers?”

Kitty turned in Lance’s grasp. Scott was pleased to note that the motion knocked his hand off of her. Scott slung his arm over the small girl’s shoulders, pulling her away. She called his name in protest, but he was barely paying any attention to her; all his focus was on that son of a… “This is a nice place,” Scott said stiffly, his hand tight on Kitty’s shoulders as she struggled. “I’m just wondering why you’re in it. Can’t you have any decency?”

“Scott!” Kitty barked a second time, and he looked down into her face. Her cheeks were flaming red and she glared; a mixture of embarrassment and anger. What had he done wrong? He was just protecting her virtue from… From _rumors!_

“Let me go, you jerk!”

She pushed at him, and he let her go because he was a gentlemen, unlike some present company. Also because he didn’t want her to phase through his arm again.

Lance was glowering down at him like he was a particularly nasty bug, and Scott returned the expression tenfold. Rat-fink. Pile of festering rock-mold. 

“At least I’m not grabbing girls who don’t want to be grabbed,” Lance growled, stepping into Scott’s space as he always seemed to do when they argued. He seemed to want Scott to back down, to let him have the victory. Scott had never done that before, and he wasn’t about to start now.

Kitty tugged at Lance’s arm, trying to pull him back. She was saying something, but by now Scott had completely tuned her out over the sound of Lance’s voice and the blood rushing in his ears. It wouldn’t be right to deck him in a public place like this, but…

“Yeah? It sure looked like you were about to.”

A rat’s smile crooked Lance’s lips upward. Smarmy and sly and sneaky, just like everything else he did. “Oh, I’m pretty sure she _wanted_ me to,” he said, voice low- low enough that Scott had to lean in to hear.

Kitty made an offended, disgusted noise in her throat, throwing her hands up and storming back to the window, returning to her pie. Neither boy turned to watch her leave.

An odd, spasmy sort of shiver wracked Scott at that precise moment. It was just the way Lance’s slimy voice trailed his skin, was all. It forced him to break eye-contact. When he regained it, Alvers had a funny sort of look on his face.

“I need you to stay away from her,” Scott snapped, attempting to regain the ground he’d lost by looking away first. He didn’t like the uncertain waver to his own voice. He needed to stand firm on this important issue. “She doesn’t need punks like you ruining her life. Kitty is a good girl.”

“Yeah?” His voice always had the faintest hint of a rasp to it, like he’d just been smoking. Scott didn’t like the look in Lance’s eyes. Like he was just on the cusp of figuring something out. Loathe as Scott was to admit it, his rival could, at times, be clever. He stepped, again, closer; close enough for Scott to feel warm breath hit his cheek. Directly into Scott’s ear, Lance asked, “What about good little boys like you, huh?”

Scott’s breath hitched. It was a tiny sound; an odd thing in the dusk air of late spring. But Lance was close enough to hear it;. His rat’s smile grew into a knowing rat’s smirk. “Oh,” he said, sounding surprised, but pleased. "Funny.”

Scott, face hot, was just about to shove him away when the bell above the diner’s door jingled again.

“Kitty ate your pie,” Kurt said.

“Yeah, man, she’s mad,” said Evan. “We’re leaving, I guess.”

Lance took a step back, easy and smooth as though he hadn’t just been doing… Whatever it was he was doing. “Aw, she doesn’t want a kiss goodbye?” he asked, with mock syrupy sweetness in his voice. Scott’s face shot up, a growl rising in his throat at the audacity, and Lance was again looking right through him with an amused smile. “Guess not. Maybe later.”

Before Scott, face inexplicably hot, could come up with an adequate response for that, Lance was already turning his back, auntering the sidewalks with no care to passersby. He offered a lazy wave over his shoulder.

“I hate him,” Scott snarled between his teeth, unable to tear his eyes from the disgusting sway of hips before him.

“If you say so,” Evan shrugged noncommittally.

* * *

**A (Partial) List of Reasons Why Scott Summers Hates Lance Alvers:**

1\. His ridiculous hair (Aren’t there school rules against boys with that length? There should be).  
     1A. The way he often tousles said hair, as though he wants it to look messy  
        1B. The way it always looks so fluffy immediately following a shower  
              1C. The cowlick. Just. The cowlick. Even the fibers of protein growing from his scalp are unable to hide what an unruly delinquent he is.

2\. The way he always smells, ever so faintly, of a campfire in the forest.

3\. His refusal to turn in a single half-decent piece of work to any of his teachers, despite Scott’s awareness of his intelligence. Why doesn’t he  _care?_ Is he _that_ determined to mess his life up?

4\. Sometimes Scott catches glimpses of Lance showing kindness. Often to the other Brotherhood boys, but sometimes to younger X-Men. Things he didn’t have to say. Encouragements he didn’t have to give. It confuses Scott. Scott hates confusion.

5\. The way his eyes do that _Thing_ when he looks at people he likes. 

6\. When he tilts his head back and laughs, not cruelly, but with eyes crinkling, hands half-rising as though to cover his mouth, to pull the sound back only it’s too late, looking suddenly both ageless and timeless, and the swooping sensation it never fails to send through Scott’s entire nervous system? Yes, Scott thinks he hates this most of all.

* * *

 **  
** “Well, well, well. What do we have here?” **  
**

“Cut it out, Tolanski.” At least, Scott hoped it was Todd, taunting him like a bad guy in some old movie. It was possible it was Mystique, out to finish him off, but if he thought about that too much he might start to hyperventilate.

Truth be told, he was relieved to hear any voice at all. He’d been wandering, blind, searching for help for what felt like hours. Hopefully Todd discovering him in this very vulnerable state was a good thing.

There was a soft thump and a woosh, then a clang of some metal nearby. Todd had jumped closer. Scott spun to face the direction of the sound, hands outstretched in front of him. “Say something?”

“Aw, man; I’m just reminiscing. You fumbling around without your goggles was like, the start of somethin’ special in our relationship, yo. It’s givin’ me the warm fuzzies.”

“I helped you,” Scott reminded the toad, delicately placing one foot in front of the other as he followed the voice.

“Hm.” Todd made a sound that suggested he didn’t necessarily agree with this point of view, but that he didn’t especially want to contest it either. “You’re gettin’ warmer, Summers. Warmer, warm-- oh, dude, watch where you’re stepping. Gross.”

Scott flinched at the squishy sensation under his foot. Whatever he’d just stepped on, he did not want to know. “Where are we?” he asked, feeling a wall brush his shoulder, using it as a guideline.

“Alleyway behind Tino’s.”

Tino’s pizzeria was just fifteen or so miles from their high school. If Todd was telling the truth, then he wasn’t as far lost as he’d thought. He breathed a sigh of relief when he finally felt a person under his hands; the sharp, bony knee of one Todd Tolanski. “Gettin’ kinda handsy there, buddy,” Todd warned, but didn’t push him off.

“What the hell, Todd! You were supposed to be my lookout. What the hell is he doing here?!”

Scott groaned at the sound of a new voice. Of course Alvers was here. Of course.

Scott felt Todd shrug. “I just found him in the trash. What was I supposed to do, let him scare away all the flies? Did you get the goods?”

“Yeah, I got it. C’mon, let’s go.”

“And just leave ‘im blind?”

“Why not?”

Scott didn’t particularly appreciate being discussed this way. “If you leave me here,” he warned. “I’m just going to open my eyes. I'll fry this entire block.”

This made Lance snort aloud. “No, you won’t, boy-scout. Listen, I don’t know who felt like roughing you up and dumping you out here, but give ‘em a high-five from me the next time you see them, yeah?”

“It was Mystique.” Scott didn’t know what possessed him to admit this, but he did. “She has it in for me.”

The silence suddenly became tense. The seconds ticked by.

“Oh, fine,” Lance snapped, swearing under his breath. Scott tried not to flinch as footsteps approached and a hand grabbed the back of his neck. “Come on.”

Lance was none-too-gentle with his leading, hauling Scott along with him like a show-pony, though he used only one hand. Whatever “goods” he’d acquired at Tino’s-- Scott didn’t smell any pizza-- seemed to be occupying the other. Scott heard the occasional thump and landing of Todd following them at a leisurely pace.

“Slow down,” Scott complained, the third time he stumbled and nearly fell. Lance ignored him. He couldn’t help but feel like he was being lead to his own execution, and it made his heart pound. “Ow!”

“Shut up, Summers, just shut the fuck up,” Lance muttered. Was Scott imagining things, or was there apprehension in his voice? Fresh anxiety began creeping in around the edges. Were they in danger?!

Without warning he slammed into a metal surface with Alvers pressed to his back. Instinctively he tensed, ready to fight whatever stupid thing Lance was doing now, but a hand covered his mouth. “Quiet.”

The urge to hyperventilate grew. He made a muffled sound.

“Summers, I swear to God, you’re going to have to just trust me.”

Scott felt Lance’s mouth on the back of his ear as he spoke. It sent sparks of _something_  through his veins, and he shivered. What a despicable creature Lance Alvers was.

Lance stilled. They were so close that Scott could hear his heart beating against his back. With the cold metal against his chest and Lance’s warmth to his back, it was a miracle he could ever stop shivering, especially when he felt a rasp of stubble against his neck. There was a metallic click. Scott had heard that sound before, too. Did Lance have a gun?!

He began bucking in earnest now, trying to claw away. Blunt human teeth sank into the back of his neck and it shocked him into stillness, a moan pouring from his throat as he heard a gun with a silencer go off, a bullet whiz the air. Lance bucked with the recoil of the gun and ground his hips into Scott for counterbalance, causing him in turn to grind against the metal.

There was a monsterous shriek as something…  _big_  quite high up was pierced by the bullet. Mystique, again?

Scott somehow didn’t think so.

The teeth in his neck released, and there was an almost apologetic lave of tongue. Had Lance just bit and then _licked_ him? “Is it dead?” Lance asked quietly. Scott jumped when he heard Todd reply, “No. It got away.” 

Lance swore again and pressed back to Scott, reaching for something on the metal. There was a thunk, and a car-- Jeep-- door opened. Scott was shoved forcefully into the backseat.

“We’ll take you home. Just shut up and keep your boner to yourself.”

Scott opened his mouth, a thousand questions bubbling to the surface. What had just happened? Why did Lance have a gun? Why did Lance _bite_ him? What was that thing in the sky? It was only after Lance and Todd climbed into the Jeep and the vehicle set off at breakneck speed to the X-mansion, where he’d be thrown gracelessly beside the gate and left behind, that Scott realized he’d never been more erect in his life.

* * *

 **  
** Electrical systems failed all the time, especially in summer monsoons such as this one, but this had a nefarious edge to it. Scott couldn’t place his finger on why, exactly, but he wasn’t the only one of Xavier Mansion’s mutants to feel so. **  
**

Perhaps it was just a summer storm. Perhaps he was just uncomfortable because he was one of the few left in the mansion while others travelled for summer vacation, and he’d merely intended to keep up with his studies. But when the lights and the fans and all the technological bits and bobs went dark and still and silent, he felt the hairs on his arms prickle.

Okay, so he didn’t have good vision at the best of times. Having everything he saw rendered in dark red didn’t exactly make color differentials easy, and it gave him particularly bad night vision. He still had more practice navigating the mansion blind than most occupants.

Fumbling through the darkened hallways, Scott kept his ears pricked, searching for someone; anyone. Most of the kids were probably in bed, oblivious to the power outage.

His attention was so focused on putting one foot in front of the other that when the floor under him rumbled, sending him to his knees, he was caught off guard. “Found you.” Lance, not ten paces behind him, sounded darkly satisfied.

“Alvers!” Scott struggled to climb back to his feet. A fresh seismic wave had him prone on the carpeted floor. The four Brotherhood boys had completely disappeared off the face of the earth after bringing a blinded Scott home several weeks ago, and now this?  “What--"

“Oh, relax.” A boot pressed between Scott’s shoulderblades, pressing him flat to the ground. “We just need some of your stuff. What better time for it than now? The mansion’s nearly empty. Dear old Xavier is on some sunny vacation, leaving you to play daddy. No better time to raid.”

The heel in Scott’s spine ground down a bit. Irritated, he raised a hand to his goggles, intending to direct a refracting laser blast at the nearest wall, but Lance was faster. The wrestling match was brief, but Lance had the distinct advantage-- both of size, and of starting position. He knelt on Scott’s chest, securing his wrists with a ziptie.

“Lance,” Scott tried to appeal for rationality. “What’s going on? Are you guys in some kind of trouble? You know we’d help you if you just-–”

“Don’t make me gag you, Summers.” Lance considered. “Actually, you’d probably like that, kinky bastard. But seriously, I’ve got a job to do.”

He stood and, catching Scott under the arms, began to drag him further down the hallway. Obviously he could see, somehow. Scott suspected night vision goggles. He’d really come prepared.

Scott tried to force his legs down hard so that Lance couldn’t drag him any further. A tiny seismic wave collapsed that plan, and then Scott was being hauled over a shoulder. He kicked, struggling. He’d never felt so useless.

“Alvers!”

He was shoved unceremoniously into a supply closet. Lance backed up, no doubt intending to shut the door, to lock Scott inside while he and the rest of the Brotherhood and who knew who else robbed the mansion. He couldn’t fail this pathetically and still look Charles in the eye.

Darting forward, bound hands jammed uncomfortably between them, Scott pressed an open-mouthed kiss to Lance’s face. He’d been aiming for his mouth, but in his blindness caught his jaw instead.

Lance, suitably caught off guard, stilled.

This would have been the chance to knock him down, to kick him in the head, to steal his night-vision goggles and save the day like the hero he knew he was, but something wild was boiling in him now. Maybe it was rage. Maybe it was exhaustion. Maybe it was knowledge that, whatever these boys were stealing, it was probably something they really needed.

And maybe Scott was just as selfish and libido-driven as any other boy his age.

He dragged his mouth from Lance’s jaw until he finally found his lips. They took an eternity to smile against his. “Yeah, I figured,” Lance quipped, and pushed Scott back into the closet, pressing in after him. “Couldn’t get enough of me, huh? Were you pining after me while I was gone? How many times did you jack it in the shower thinking of me?”

Scott, irritated, silenced him with a sharp bite to his lip. He brought his bound hands up between them until he managed to link them around Lance’s neck, struggling to spread his knees in the crowded confines of the closet. Lance took the initiative to step in between them, smooth as an eel. Scott let out a little huff of breath when teeth attacked his neck.

Scott used a word he’d heard often but never said before, his voice climbing high as he tilted his head back, offering as much throat as he could. Lance laughed, and true loathing coiled in Scott’s guts. “I hate you,” he gasped. “I hate you so much it hurts to breathe.”

Lance sank a particularly sharp bite into his shoulder. Scott yelped, cursed, rolled his hips. Maybe it was the absolute darkness that made this possible; gave the situation a sense of surreality. Maybe this was all just a dream. “Mm. Show me how much you hate me?”

Scott’s hands were out of the question, and there wasn’t much he could do with his legs in his cramped situation. His goggles tapped against whatever plastic thing Lance was wearing on his face as he moved to kiss him again, licking hotly into his mouth, tongue curling behind his molars as he deliberately began to grind into the other boy. He moaned when Lance obligingly slid a knee between his thighs.

“There. Gives you something to ride,” Lance offered with a laugh, and Scott felt his face burn red.

“You’re hard too,” he pointed out, hips already working, moans building in his throat as he did as directed.

“You’re good at following instructions,” Lance countered, letting his leg be used to get Scott off. He sounded as though _he_ were getting off on this ego-trip. “Is that what you wanted all along? Me to make the rules for you?”

Scott wanted a lot of things, and the jumbled and nonlinear images tumbled over themselves like a waterfall the closer he got. He wanted Lance on top of him in the Jeep-- no, _on_ the Jeep-- and he wanted to be tied in his bed. He _wanted_ … He wanted Lance’s vest shoved between his teeth, a gag to muffle his screams as Lance deliberately wrote his name in black ink all over Scott’s skin, rendering him as filthy on the outside as he was on the inside. He- **  
**

His hips stuttered, and Lance took a quick step back. “No.”

If Scott thought he was humiliated before, the sound Lance preventing him from coming in his jeans all over Lance’s leg drove from him had him reaching the summit of absolute mortification. He whined, needy and pathetic as could be.“No?!”

For one horrible moment, he thought Lance might actually back out of the closet and leave him there, alone, wrecked, horny enough to hump the wall for relief. He knew Lance was thinking of doing just that, the same way that he knew the sun was hot and the ocean was deep. Scott knew Lance.

Shaking with repressed need, Scott touched his lips to Lance’s again, soft as a petal, beseeching. “Please?” he breathed, though it killed him to sink to begging. He melted into this kiss, soft and gentle as he might give to a proper lover; a lover worthy of his heart, his affection. It was easier to do than he ever would have thought; to kiss Lance Alvers as though the boy owned his heart.

Lance groaned, more moved by the praises and the pleas than he probably knew. He kissed Scott back, the rasp of stubble burning his face. He cupped Scott’s face in hand, thumb gently stroking his cheek.

This was not how one kissed someone they hated. There were rules, and they had just broken them.

Lance’s hand slipped to press to Scott’s straining erection, palming him through his jeans. Scott broke away from their kiss to pant a louder, “please!” into his ear and, laughing, Lance unzipped his jeans with practiced ease and took the length of Scott’s cock in hand, already slippery.

“You want me bad, huh?” Lance teased. “Say yes, and I’ll make it worth your while.”

If the lights had been on, if Scott could have seen his face, he would never have been able to set his pride aside enough to gasp, “Yes, Alvers. Please!”

“Well, since you asked so nicely.” The bastard was grinning wider than a jack-o-lantern. It was audible in his voice.

Good God almighty, he was wearing his gloves. The stupid fingerless gloves that Scott absolutely detested. The gloves that had shown up in his dreams time and again. They rasped against his erection, painful but perfect, and it had Scott rising onto his toes. No longer forced, the praises and encouragement bubbled from his tongue, impossible to hold back. “More, more, please Lance, please, let me–”

“Oh,” Lance encouraged, and there was a genuine tenderness to his raspy voice that Scott had never heard before. “You need my permission? That’s what you need, babe?”

Scott hadn’t known he needed Lance Alvers to call him _babe,_  that was for sure. The pleasure and the shame of it all was a bitter and broiling cocktail. He buried his face in Lance’s neck, probably smudging his goggles in the process. “Yeah,” he said, muffled. “Yes.”

Lance turned his head to kiss Scott’s scalp, thumb fluttering wickedly over the slit of Scott’s cock. “Permission granted.” He nipped Scott’s ear as he resumed jerking him off in earnest. Scott’s knees actually went weak as his restraint gave out and he came into Lance’s hand, shivering all over from thighs to chest as he was milked into oversensitivity. 

“Too much?” Lance snickered, and let him go to sag against the wall. There was a sound in the dark as though--

“Alvers,” Scott panted, his mind scrambled enough that arranging the correct syllables felt nigh impossible. “Tell me you didn’t just lick your hand.”

“I guess I could have just wiped it on your shirt,” Lance pointed out. Scott groaned as Lance very carefully ducked out from under his arms.

“What about you?” Scott asked, and then yelped when the door slammed shut, leaving him trapped inside after all. “Alvers!”

“What, you thought we were buddies now?” Lance was laughing bodily now, actually bracing his weight against the wood of the door as Scott tried ineffectively to shove it open. Scott would have bet a thousand dollars that his head was thrown back, his eyes crinkled. “You’re welcome, by the way.”

“For what?!” Scott, blinded by fury, howled. There was no dignity left in him; it had all been sapped away.

“Turning the security cameras off, as well as the lights. I figure you’ve got a couple hours to come up with a good excuse for what happened when someone lets you out. Nobody will be any the wiser of what you begged me to do.”

Scott was speechless, teeth grinding. He tried again to knock the door down as Lance audibly dragged heavy things in front of it.

“See you around, Summers,” Lance greeted cheerily, his voice already fading as he walked further into the basement. Scott could do nothing but growl after him.  _Fucking_  Alvers.


End file.
